


Not So Different

by megthemewlingquim



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-28 18:59:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19400386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megthemewlingquim/pseuds/megthemewlingquim
Summary: You're a servant in Asgard's halls and you seem to be enamoured with Loki, your king.





	Not So Different

**Author's Note:**

> this is set during "thor"

Getting used to Loki as the new king of Asgard was actually not too hard, despite what you had thought previously.

His presence was much more laid back than Odin's, and it was a good change. Not that you felt free to slack off at your jobs, but it was just nice to feel more at ease.

You're a servant girl, and you did well at following orders. And you enjoy your job. You spend most your time in the ballroom, waiting to take people's empty goblets or plates.

Occasionally, you're lucky enough to stay in the throne room. You normally keep your head down and your ears open. 

Loki is often there, sitting on the throne, talking with soldiers or the warriors three, and you're beside him.

Once in a blue moon, you look up and at him, admiring his emerald eyes or the way that his black hair brushes the back of his neck.

As soon as you two make eye contact, you quickly lower your face to look at your shoes, consumed by embarrassment.

This goes on for quite some time.

Until Loki calls you by name into the throne room. You realize that no one else but him is in there.

You're alone. Alone with Loki.

"I have noticed your side looks," he says, not bothering to beat around the bush, and you feel heat rushing to your cheeks again. "Your eyes drop once mine meet them. Why do you lower your gaze?" He sounds... sad. Sympathetic, even.

"I..." You swallow, not looking up. "I feel as if I should not let my eyes linger on you."

"Why do you feel that way?"

"Well... you're a king," you answer automatically. "And I'm a servant girl."

"What does that matter?" he asks, and he sounds even sadder. "I am a king, and yet I am pining over a servant. And I mean that in the best way."

It takes some time for the words to sink in. "You... what?" you ask, looking up slowly.

He smiles then, his teeth a brilliant white. "I have observed you for quite some time. Your beauty is what attracted me first, but then as I grew to observe you more I became enamoured with your kindness."

You're too stunned to speak.

He's right in front of you now, and you cannot fight your urge to look away from him. 

"Are you... are you afraid of me?" he asks, and it's as if he's read your mind.

You say nothing, although your mind is screaming at you to answer him. 

"I can see you shaking," he says, and his gaze doesn't become amused. "You're scared."

You shut your eyes tight. "Fo-forgive me."

"I assure you," he says, and his voice is smooth and sad and absolutely gentle, "you've nothing to be afraid of, nor do you have anything to apologize for." Some newfound compassion suddenly shows itself as he strokes your cheek with his thumb. "You've no need to shy away from me, for I only wish to love you."

You're torn. You've wanted this for a while, and yet it seems too good to be true.

"How can that be?" you manage. "We've only just met."

"That may be true and yet, I can tell that I have never felt this way towards anyone," he says. "You are kind and sweet and you are the warmth to my freezing cold."

You stay where you are, stiff as a board, unable to move. 

"I am not all intimidation and coldness and strictness like how my father was," he says, noticing your stiffness, and now -- goodness, you never thought you'd be doing this -- you're leaning into his touch, almost unwillingly. You're trusting him.

"You crave this?" he asks, sounding surprised. "You long for someone to love you. As I do -- I have craved love from someone other than my mother, because a mother's affection is different from a lover's.

"We are not so different, then." His hand moves to rest on your hair, and you flinch.

"Relax, my dear," he says sadly. "Again, I have no intention of hurting you. You're half and half here. You seem to be afraid, and yet you seem to trust me a little. Why do you cower in fear of my touch?"

"It's..." you start, "you're-- you're... because you're... you."

"You're scared because I'm a god?" Loki laughs a bit at this, but it's a warm laugh that assures you that he's not making fun of you. "I don't use my powers for direct harm, and even if I did, I'd never hurt you. You've been nothing but kind to me."

His words seem to put you at ease. You breathe in deeply and exhale, becoming less tense.

"There we go," he says, finally smiling with happiness. You smile a little in response. 

"So... what now?" you ask.

"Well..." his voice quiets... "Odin, when he wakes, will not like this -- how my affection is for a beautiful yet humble servant and not a woman of noble background.

"And yet," he stops talking to take your hand in his and kiss your palm, "when has that ever stopped the god of mischief?"


End file.
